Sonatas
by Ambrelle Shirak
Summary: I'm sorry, I can't really summarize this yet, because it would just give too much away. I know I'll figure out something clever to say soon.


**Sonata #8: Pathetique**

Prelude

_2029_

She hit the ground running hard. The impact jarred her knee, sending shooting pains down her lower leg with each leaping step. She had to get under cover; she knew that. Had to disguise herself, her signal. They were closing in on her, she could feel them. Like a tingling in the back of her skull, she knew the machines were on to her. Her footing stumbled, and she pitched forward. The hard ground, scorched earth, met her hands, tearing them to shreds. She rolled, until she lay beneath some of the burnt out wreckage that littered the world.

Still mind. Still heart. She dared to close her eyes to calm herself. A racing heartbeat only attracted the Seekers. Let herself be calm, and the glass-surface of her mind could not be breached. _I am not here_.

Before Judgment Day, she would have laughed, and used the most famous line in all of movie-dom. "These are not the droids you're looking for." But the line hadn't been funny since the machines took over. Her little mind-trick sometimes worked, and sometimes... well, it didn't. The hum of the anti-grav engines swept overhead; she could even feel the spin of the turbines generating the power. She refused to answer the call. They would never stop looking for her.

Lights continued to sweep overhead; and she continued to lay in her hiding place, surrounded by bent, twisted, melted metal. She thought non-existent thoughts, and concentrated on keeping her breathing slow, even and deep. Not soon enough, the Seeker engines faded into the distance. Slowly she uncurled from her hiding place, limbs stiff and cold. Her skinned palms had crusted over; she tried to wipe them off.

It was time to take stock of her situation. She was free, but that never lasted long. She was hungry, but that was a common fact. And she was cold. She needed to find a fire, preferably one that was already burning. Looking around, she realized that she didn't recognize the quadrant she had jumped into. Without a solid idea of which way to turn, she chose to follow the crude trough between the gutted wrecks of obsolete model Seekers. The signs were promising; only a Resistance cell would be gutting ships like these.

Her shivering muscles disliked cooperating. Twice she tripped over a beam or scrap that normally she could have avoided. The adrenaline from her flight was quickly wearing off. She hadn't gone too much further when she realized that she needed shelter once more. She tripped again, falling to her hands and knees, and decided for just a few seconds to remain there, resting. It felt good to stop. Even out in the open. As she let her head hang, she heard something. Like the scuff of a boot. It was followed by the distinctive _whir-click_ of a pulse rifle powering up.

She didn't need to be told twice. She put her hands into the air, and slowly rose to her feet. She turned slowly, into the blinding glare of a single flashlight. Her eyes refused to focus on the dark shapes behind the light, but she recognized the unsteady shifting of human feet, the nervous twitch of fingers against triggers.

Her cracked lips parted slowly, into a smile...

"There is a God..."

No sooner than the final syllable slipped out, did she fall, senseless to the ground.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"What's your name?" The man with the bright light posed the question again.

She had the same answer for him as last time. "I... don't remember." They'd gone through this five, or six times; she'd lost count the first time he lost his temper with her. She was underground, that much she knew. It was tolerably warmer down here, especially since they had given her something warmer than the scraps she had previously. A blanket wrapped around her shoulders made her seem frail, small and vulnerable.

The light jostled around for a few moments, and some words were exchanged in low, murmuring tones. After a few moments, someone came forward into the light, and lowered himself into a chair across from her. His eyes, though clear and blue, were shrewd and battle-worn.

"You look like an Evie to me," he said with a winning smile. "So Evie you'll be. Do you like that?"

She felt the corner of her mouth tug up. "Yeah. Evie. I like it." She dropped her gaze back down to the tabletop. "Thank you," she whispered shyly.

He leaned forward slowly across the table, interlacing his hands before him. "I know who you are," he began softly. "I know what you are to the machines. I want to help you. I've already taken the control chips out."

Her eyes widened in shock, even as her hand went to the scars along the base of her skull. "When? How?"

"Nevermind that." He even waved dismissively. "We'll be mutually beneficial to each other. I'll help you get away from the machines for good; and you'll help me."

"With?"

He smiled again. "Do you know who I am?"

She squinted, and studied his face. The shadows threw everything into strange reliefs, making him seem more alien than human. After a moment, the light-bearer moved, and his face became clear. Her jaw fell open, and she started to reach across the table. "Connor..."

He caught her hand easily, and nodded. When she said nothing more, John Connor released her hand, and rose. "Get settled, Evie. Get healed. When you're ready, I'll tell you what you can do for me."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_2007_

"Run!" Derek Reese didn't ask. He barked. He expected to be obeyed unquestioningly and unflinchingly. The mark of a commander. But John didn't run. John could be expected to never obey. How could he save the world if all he ever did was run from trouble? John had his mother supported on one arm; Cameron stood before them, weapons drawn, her face already showing the metallic structure beneath the artificial flesh. It would be mere moments before the T-unit broke through the steel doors.

Reese jogged forward, grabbing Sarah's free arm. Slinging it over his shoulder, he moved to pick her up, ignoring her pissed off protests. Feeling the weight pulled from his shoulders, John turned to glare at the big man.

"We need to go, now," Reese growled. John's brows drew down, narrowing his boyish features into a glare. Sarah limped a few feet away, letting Derek support most of her weight. Following, John retreated slowly through the warehouse. He glanced at Cameron, wondering if she had fed them false information. The warehouse was supposed to house a stash of weaponry, placed here by soldiers.

Thus far all they'd found was an empty room, and a T-unit with a bad attitude.

John cracked the door from the office into the hall, and peered both ways. He raised his hand in the all-clear sign, and proceeded carefully forward. Reese drew Sarah along slowly, taking care not to bang her already trashed knee. Cameron waited until she was sure they were clear, before backing slowly away. The fire-door was already glowing red, being melted from the other side. She closed the door carefully behind her, and turned to follow her charges.

John pulled the door open into the front office, and froze solid. A bloody splatter decorated the window before him; it's source lying in a heap at the base of the wall. The office bore the marks of a destructive globe, the ripped and broken signs of the inorganic matter. Scorch marks scattered randomly around the room. Time travel. He recognized all the signs immediately.

His hesitation to enter wasn't lost on the rest of the family. Sarah pushed away from Derek, limping on her own up to peer over John's shoulder. With Derek and Cameron watching their backs, the Connors proceeded slowly. John's face was drawn tightly in concentration; he fought the urge to turn away, and run. Reminders of his future role in the world always kept coming back.

Forcing himself to move forward, he felt his mother's presence like a shadow looming over him. Without glancing over to her, he knelt beside the slumped figure on the floor. Fingers found her throat easily, and John paused for a few moments.

"She's alive," he whispered, visibly relieved.

"She?" Derek echoed from the door. He turned to see Sarah holding out her hand, gesturing for his jacket. Shifting his weapon from his right hand to his left, he shucked out of the old military surplus and handed it over. As he turned back to his vigil, he caught Cameron looking over her shoulder as well. "Recognize her?"

She seemed to stare intently for a good thirty seconds. Reese could almost see the flashing imagery and data flitting across her vision. While Cameron processed the answer, Sarah was wrapping the unconscious woman in Derek's jacket. Finally, Cameron shook her head slightly.

"I have no record of her." She turned back to the hallway and readjusted her position to cover the full spread. Derek broke away from his post and knelt beside John.

In response to his uncle's arrival, John turned the girl's wrist up. The barcode was the first thing both noticed. Derek had one. It was a mark of captivity. Derek gestured to the other odd thing. Her wrists bore scars. Not the crisscrossed shapes of self-inflicted wounds, but the perfect, quarter-inch incisions of precise surgery. As Derek tucked his arm under her legs, he glanced up at Sarah.

"Looks like she cracked the back of her head..." Sarah answered the unspoken question. Worry drew a line between her brows. The blood splatter on the wall was too big for just a head contusion. As he tucked his other arm under her shoulders, he made sure to feel around for any sort of wound. John helped his mother straighten.

"Cameron." Sarah called out to their own T-unit protector. Cameron canted her head to indicate that she had heard. "Take care of that problem. Then meet us back at the house." Cameron shut the door behind her as she headed back deeper into the warehouse.


End file.
